Spears and Storms
by Dragon Confused
Summary: Story about Cirdan's relationship with the child, and why Ereinion ends up with a spear. Main Characters: Cirdan, Ereinion
1. Chapter One

I'm going to write a story. One with beaches. Because I want to. Review me if you feel like it. I'm bored. And I just need to write something happy. This is going to be longer than I thought and nothing much happened as yet. I think it'll change. It was going to be about spears to tie in with a bit in another chapter of another story that will feature - you guessed it - a very large spear. And Elladan. And Elrohir. My stories are a bit predictable I think. Little note can you criticise this lots because I'm not even sure if I'm doing this right. Well I haven't written in a sentence for a long time and I just feel odd. Actually I'll probably delete or revise this later. I just fancied writing something.  
  
  
  
He had heard the metallic rasp of the door handle, but recognising the characteristic creak of the door being hesitantly opened by his least welcome visitor, he bent his head to his papers with renewed intensity. Perhaps the owner of the small hands that had pushed lightly on the panels would decide that he was busy and hurry his equally small feet out of there.  
  
The door creaked again, the noise further disturbing the elf sitting at the desk. Frowning, he bent his head closer to the desk and dipped his quill in the open bottle of ink with excessive force.  
  
The creaking stopped suddenly as someone's hand caught hold of the door, and even from his desk he could almost feel the intensity of the bright eyes burning into him. Still, two could play at that game, and he was as well practised at ignoring the attempts to gain his attention as his opponent was at making them.  
  
Today, however, it appeared that this should be a game that he should lose. The door was bounced gently back and forwards between a cupped hand and lifted foot with a rhythmic squeak-thud. A noise that in time he knew would break him.  
  
"Yes, yes. Come in!" Cirdan called briskly, his manner speaking of a frustration that both knew he did not truly feel.  
  
The door swung fully open, and Ereinion slipped silently into the room, observing his guardian with solemn eyes as he chewed the head off a gingerbread sailor with bloodthirsty relish. The room hung in silence for a few moments while Cirdan finished the sentence and set his quill to rest precisely in its stand, before looking up to where his charge was pacing the room.  
  
Six months had passed now since the boy had first arrived in his care. And despite the protest that he was 'better qualified to father a boat than a boy' they were getting along well enough. At least he thought that they were. He felt that the child was happy, indeed there was nothing to suggest otherwise, but as he had learned several times to his cost there was often more going on beneath the presented exterior than may meet the eye.  
  
At nearly eleven Ereinion was growing fast, and although compared to a mortal child he was pitifully small, for an elfling he was unusually tall and skinny. Not for the first time yesterday Cirdan had heard the boy compared to a beanpole, and while the comment had been a little unfair, even he had to admit there was a striking resemblance. They did feed him of course. While all things domestic were a little beyond the shipwright, the housekeeper delighted in preparing tempting dishes in a futile attempt to fatten up the young prince. It was not even that he did not eat, for anything that found it's way onto the child's plate and indeed most things that did not, were polished off with amazing speed. Cirdan was left to think back to a hazy recollection of his own childhood and decide that the child was not so very much skinnier than he had been, while Ereinion delighted in exploiting the kind heart of the housekeeper for an endless supply of snacks.  
  
"It began to rain." Ereinion pointed through the rain-spattered windowpanes at the grey September sky. Cirdan followed the grubby finger and frowned as he recognised the threatening loom of storm clouds over the choppy sea. "One of my friend's Ada said that we should go inside."  
  
"Yes. There will be a storm tonight." Cirdan levered himself up from his chair and stalked over to the window to stare pensively out into the rising wind and rain. The storms were starting early this year, for it was only late September, and until recently it had been warm enough for Ereinion and the other boys to spend their free hours swimming in the bay. He had enjoyed the summer months, peaceful in his study but able if he looked up, to see a large log floating in the bay surrounded by elflings scrambling on and jumping off, or slipping as they attempted to run it's length. The winter looked set to be more trying. Especially a winter with a child under his feet all day.  
  
"A big storm?" Ereinion asked as he scampered over to Cirdan's side and scrambled up onto the window-seat to kneel on the faded cushions as he too looked out at the approaching storm, his face full of excited anticipation rather than concern. He had not yet experienced one of the storms that battered the coast during the winter months, but he had heard many a tale from his friends about their bravery during the previous winter. If they were to be believed - and a slight edge of doubt existed in his mind - much of their time had been spent being blown through the air, hanging onto the beams with one hand whilst mending thatch with the other. He made a mental note to question his guardian as to the veracity of these tales - but sometime when he looked less fierce. Cirdan's mood usually improved considerably when he hadn't been interrupted, and when mellowed by food and wine in the evenings had even been known to enjoy telling stories of brave seafarers and terrible storms.  
  
"Large enough." Cirdan grimaced, suddenly looking very worried. He had men out on the water today, and the shipyards were nowhere near ready for such a storm so early in the season. Noticing that the young face now tipped up to look at him had become furrowed with concern, he made an attempt to smile. "But you will be perfectly safe here."  
  
The boy looked up at him and smiled slightly before offering him the mauled and slightly crumbled gingerbread.  
  
"Would you like some?"  
  
Cirdan stared distractedly down at the proffered treat and shook his head.  
  
"No. . . No thank you Ereinion. I have much to do." The shipwright turned suddenly and strode back over to his desk, where he sank back into the carved wooden chair with a deep sigh.  
  
"Cirdan?" The boy padded across the room to reach across the desk and pat the larger hand. "You are worried about the boats that went out today are you not? We watched them leave."  
  
The grey-haired elf's frown deepened, frustrated that he could not keep even this worry from the child's slender shoulders.  
  
"Cirdan?" The high-pitched voice rose inquisitively.  
  
"Yes Ereinion, I worry. But you do not need to." Taking up his quill and signifying the end of the conversation Cirdan bent back down to his paperwork, eager to finish quickly. "Run along and play."  
  
There was a pause in which Cirdan worked with grim determination and Ereinion bobbed up and down on his toes, his face thoughtful. Eventually the child recognised that this time he would not succeed in disturbing the shipwright further. But he didn't want to go alone into the cold dark rooms and think about his friends' fathers somewhere on that grey sea, but he equally did not anyone to think that he was upset or even scared. It would not do at all for the High Prince of the Noldor to be scared. Biting his lip slightly and casting a nervous glance at Cirdan to see if he objected, the child reached over the desk to carefully lift a large paperweight. Cradling it to his chest as he carried it across the room to set it down on the rug before the desk.  
  
It was usually an evening treat to be allowed to play with the elaborate paperweight, but the ten-year-old had been at a loss to think of any other activity that would not create sufficient noise to cause him to be booted out of the study and up to his room in short order. Happy that Cirdan's frown had not deepened, Ereinion lay down on his stomach on the colourful rag-rug and peered through the tinted glass of the bottle at the magnificent vessel inside, complete in every detail from delicate rigging to a minuscule crew.  
  
Eventually, remembering a message that he had forgotten to pass on, Cirdan glanced up from his work. As he expected Ereinion was sprawled on the rug, his chin resting on his elbow and his feet waving idly in the air. It may have been that he was tired out after a morning spent running over the beaches and poking in rock-pools, or just the quiet of the study but the dark lashes seemed to be drooping slightly.  
  
"Ereinion," Cirdan paused mid-sentence as he stared again at the bare feet, still encrusted with sand from the beach in some parts, "Where are your shoes?"  
  
This time the child's entire body drooped, until he was no longer required to make eye contact with his guardian. When he at last spoke it was with an unusual hint of uncertainty.  
  
"Well. . . I think I might have left them on the quayside when we went crabbing." Grey eyes peeped up to see how the older elf was taking the news. "I would have returned to search for them only. . ."  
  
Cirdan sighed as he finished the sentence.  
  
"Only you forgot."  
  
He was well used to Ereinion's manner of speech and however much the child may emphasise 'think' and 'might' he knew full well that a small pair of sandals were sitting somewhere among the coiled ropes, seaweed and lobster pots.  
  
"I can run and get them." The boy sprung to his feet with the rapidity of a highly-coiled spring that had finally been released. Catching Cirdan's look he turned again to the window where the wind was lashing the rain against the glass. "I will wear my cloak."  
  
Cirdan almost smiled at that. He must be finding it hard indeed coping with a morning of captivity after a summer spent running wild if he would offer to wear the hated garment just to get a breath of fresh air.  
  
"No Ereinion, you must not go outside until the storm is over." Cirdan frowned as the child's expression suddenly became sulky and angry and bare toes pressed hard down into the fuzz of the rug. Sighing, he bent down until his face was level with the child's, "Do you promise me?"  
  
Ereinion pulled a horrible face at the floor, for he knew that once he made the promise he would be bound by his own honour as well as Cirdan's trust to keep it.  
  
"I promise." The grey eyes lifted hopefully again. "Only Cirdan, if I must not go outside may I please walk on my hands in the dining room?"  
  
"Excellent." Cirdan patted a small shoulder. "It is not safe outside. Sometimes the wind can blow people off the quayside, or the waves can come over the wall and wash people into the sea."  
  
Ereinion's eyes had become wide and round at this, so Cirdan decided not to go into the more gory details of rope burns and instead turned to the other topic in hand.  
  
"And of course, if you cannot play outside, we must find lots of things for you to do inside."  
  
"So can I walk on my hands. . ."  
  
"Yes." Ereinion beamed broadly, diminishing Cirdan's guilt at tainting his upbringing by allowing such behaviour. "Providing that it is not dinner time. And that we have no visitors. You can also play in the attics, I think you could make a swing."  
  
"Thank you!" The prince danced excitedly around the older elf as he switched his shoes for boots and pulled a thick, all-enveloping cloak from a hook on the wall. Eventually he came to a halt squarely between Cirdan and the door. "Are you going out?"  
  
Cirdan side-stepped around the child only to find his path neatly blocked by a sudden skip, necessitating a sudden halt to avoid crushing small pink toes under the heavy tread of his sea-boots. Scowling the shipwright paused, guiltily wishing the child was already upside down in the dining room or hanging from a rope in the attic, before making a second attempt that mirrored the first. This movement was repeated several times before in exasperation, Cirdan lifted the boy from his feet.  
  
"Yes, I am going out. Yes, I will be back for supper, as will some friends of mine. I think that will require one of us to have a bath before this evening?" Cirdan set the child down and turned back to the door, his path finally clear, ignoring the look he was being given at the thought of having to dress up for dinner. Maybe that was one aspect in which he had spoiled the child, for he had been most abiding on his arrival. But after a summer of being allowed to dine in his play clothes for there was only Cirdan to see and Cirdan's mind was more often on paint and varnish than tunics and shirts, he strongly objected to returning to the former regime.  
  
"I think that my clothing is perfectly fitting for a prince." Ereinion said loudly and with dignity, moving his hand over the blackberry stains on the skirt of his tunic. Unfortunately this exposed the green streaks of algae from the morning's game of hide-and-seek in the cave. Cirdan raised his eyebrows slightly and neither felt the need to make further comment as the shipwright ruffled the boy's hair with one work-hardened hand before hurrying out. His long stride was characteristic even in the fading light as Ereinion watched his progress over the dunes and towards the harbour from his perch on the window-seat.  
  
  
  
Er. . . OK. I'm going to make a chapter break here. Let me know what you think if you have time or an inclination. You'll make me smile. Whatever you say. 


	2. Chapter Two

Nooooooo! This is most definitely not a Silmarillion fic. That would require me to do something intelligent like actually reading the whole of the thing or all in one go. The Silmarillion section has lots of cool stories though. With footnotes. One day I too shall write a footnote. I'm only going from information in Lord of the Rings I think. I think it's always going to be a bit repeaty because I'm writing about a little elf. Thank you for the reviews. This is probably the last of this.  
  
Having watched the shipwright's back disappear as a dark shadow among the scrubby trees that grew alongside the path to the quayside, Ereinion grew bored and after carefully placing the paperweight back in it's proper place he skipped through the narrow halls and steep stairs up to the attics.  
  
He had never before been allowed to know of the existence of the attics, and as he pulled himself through the trapdoor, he could see why. Whatever pretence at tidiness the shipwright might make at tidiness in the rest of the house, it was a thin veil and apparently only achieved by piling the mementos and paraphernalia of a lifetime into the ample space beneath his gables.  
  
Ereinion scrambled to his feet and spun around, his mouth open and eyes wide, as he anticipated the potential of such a play space. It was a large room, running the length of the house and broken only by beams and supports. Coils of ropes and rolls of sailcloth would provide ample sitting space and as Cirdan had suggested, if he could just manage to loop a short length of rope over that thick beam he would have an enviable swing. The corners were stacked with old fishing rods and nets, and knowing that he would not be discovered, Ereinion spent an enjoyable hour amusing himself practising his casting skills along the length of the floor.  
  
When this paled he set to a more close inspection of the piled masses in the rest of the room. Chests of books and papers, woodworking tools, even a frying pan and a cartwheel. And then half-hidden under an old cloak something more tempting to capture his attention.  
  
~*~  
  
Cirdan gladly took refuge from the rising storm, allowing the door of his house to slam shut in the gale behind him. He knew that the noise would draw a certain small somebody down from whatever corner of the house he was playing, and convinced himself that it was accidental. Purely to avoid admitting that he would be pleased to hear eager feet galloping downstairs with dangerous haste and the familiar creak of his study door.  
  
He had done all he could do at the shipyards. They would not be unscathed, but the damage could have been much worse. More worrying were the two ships that had not returned, but - and it frustrated him greatly - there was nothing he could do. Striding through to his study he hung up his dripping cloak and placed his boots and the small sandals he had rescued from a watery grave to dry by the fire. Finally he sat down and ostentatiously began to work, keeping more than one ear open for bare footsteps in the corridor.  
  
Ereinion thundered downstairs, glad of some company after the lonely afternoon, only just remembering to meter his pace to a casual walk as he approached the study. The door had been left slightly open and he poked his head around the gap, somewhat surprised to see Cirdan immediately nod absentmindedly with what could almost be described as a smile.  
  
"You found my sandals!" The gleeful shout caused Cirdan's pen to jump messily across the page as the boy gave his guardian his best smile. "Thank you Cirdan."  
  
"Do not do it again." The shipwright said sternly, trying to blot up some of the ink. "Do sit down child! There's no wonder I cannot get any work done with you skipping around like a demented kitten."  
  
The boy skipped across to the window-seat with a little secret smile. He had long learnt when to take the shipwright seriously, and knowing that in this mood Cirdan had little objection to being talked at, sat down.  
  
"Did you have a pleasant afternoon?" Cirdan's voice was carefully distant.  
  
Ereinion paused in the lowering of his body over the edge of the window- seat to rest upside down on his hand, his knees hooked over the carved back.  
  
"Yes thank you. I made a swing! Its very fast." He smiled at the memory. If a very small elf climbed to the top of a stack of chests before leaping onto the outstretched rope, it was possible to achieve quite terrifying speeds.  
  
"Good. What knot did you use?" Cirdan made a mental note that he would probably later forget, to check the safety and load-bearing capacities of the swing.  
  
"Oh. . ." The child wrinkled up his nose in thought. "The one. . . that one you showed me the day you took me for a picnic."  
  
"Good." Cirdan nodded, pleased that his charge appeared to learn quickly. Although he would have described the activity as a long walk with a meal. Shipwrights did not take small boys on picnics.  
  
"I can swing from the chests to the little window!" A voice said proudly through an upside-down mop of dark hair.  
  
"Oh?" Cirdan looked up slightly alarmed, and made an urgent mental note to check on the scale of this swing. He had so far successfully ignored the whispered comments that he was letting the boy run wild, but he did not fancy having to explain how the child had managed to flatten himself against a wall while in his care.  
  
Ereinion grunted a response that could have meant anything as he unhooked his knees, and began making unsteady progress over the wooden planks of the floor on his hands. He was several years behind the other boys his age at mastering this skill, but was learning fast. And he could shoot a bow and wield a sword, something the others would not learn until later. Eventually a hand caught on a clump of hair, sending him tumbling to the floor.  
  
"Cirdan." The interruption came at length, some while after the child had limped back to curl up on the window-seat. Cirdan had ignored his quivering lip and bruised elbow, knowing that offering any sort of sympathy would likely lead to an angry outburst that he was not hurt and not crying.  
  
The shipwright grunted, then feeling a rare compulsion to set the boy a good example answered in speech. He had noticed the child grunting responses rather a lot recently, and since he had been perfectly mannered and spoken just six short months ago, Cirdan was not sure how this would reflect on his parenting skills.  
  
"Yes Ereinion."  
  
"May I cut my hair off?" White baby teeth flashed in a hopeful smile.  
  
"No."  
  
"Please?" Long dark strands were tugged at viciously. "It tripped me up!"  
  
"No."  
  
"It could break my neck one day." The serious voice was the perfect imitation of the housekeeper who insisted daily that one or other of the two elves in "her" care would end up killing themselves in their chosen activities. Cirdan was unable to prevent himself laughing a little before continuing.  
  
"No. You could however try braiding your hair in the mornings."  
  
He was answered with a scowl as he had known he would be. Braids soon came undone when you spent your mornings charging along the paved streets or rolling down sand dunes, and the child had taken to wearing his hair loose just as soon as he had realised that Cirdan did not appear to notice if he came down to breakfast with his dark mop spread across his shoulders. The attempt a few weeks later at not brushing his hair had been less successful, so he did at least look relatively tidy. Most of the time.  
  
"You cut your beard."  
  
"I trim my beard." Cirdan ran a hand over his rough silver beard, closely trimmed to his face.  
  
"Well. . . can I trim my hair?"  
  
Cirdan's mouth began forming the word "No", but then wishing for peace and guessing that a child would have little knowledge of the use of the various instruments on his dressing table, had a better idea.  
  
"If you use my clippers." Cirdan kept his voice purposely calm, although he had great difficulty avoiding grinning as Ereinion's nose wrinkled as he recalled the tiny size of the clippers. The room fell silent and smirking inwardly Cirdan returned to his work.  
  
"Cirdan. You know in the barn. . ." The boy called triumphantly at last. The silence had clearly been accompanied by no small degree of brain wracking. "They look just like your clippers."  
  
Only they were bigger. And sharper. And rustier.  
  
"No Ereinion." Cirdan's voice warned that as far as he was concerned this conversation was now over, and the pair sat in silence for a while, one writing in his small careful script and the other kicking the cushions in rhythm as he mentally recited a favoured poem for moments like this. Involving a cocky shipwright drowning on his incompetent work.  
  
Being a bright boy Ereinion had even tried to compose a few lines of his own, describing the moment as the body was dashed against the cliff, but since the only word he could find to rhyme with blood was mud this attempt had been doomed to failure.  
  
After five such recitals the boy's mood had improved sufficiently that he even felt sorry for the shipwright who was now pouring over a large book, looking glum.  
  
"I heard a funny joke today!" Ereinion said brightly. "Do you want to hear it?"  
  
"If I must." Cirdan looked up with an exaggerated sigh.  
  
"It is good." Ereinion promised, rocking backwards in the seat and letting his heels fall back against the panelling with a thud. "Alright! What is the difference between a boat and a ship?"  
  
Cirdan sighed and began pointing out that he had already explained the difference between boats and ships at great length several months ago, when he was interrupted.  
  
"No no! This is a joke! What is the difference between a boat and a ship?"  
  
Cirdan rested his chin on one hand as he watched his charge, wondering how anyone could become so excited about so puerile a pastime.  
  
"I do not know Ereinion." The shipwright said tiredly. "Pray, tell me. What is the difference between a boat and a ship?"  
  
"The boat starts closer to the sea!" The child dissolved into giggles, seemingly unmoved by his guardian's outward lack of amusement. "The C see? Because boat starts with B! Do you get it?"  
  
"Yes, yes. Most amusing." Cirdan said dryly, wincing a little as Ereinion's voice grew increasingly high-pitched with the excitement of his explanation.  
  
Ereinion stared intently at the shipwright's lean tanned face.  
  
"You did not find that so very funny did you?"  
  
Cirdan looked up and shook his head.  
  
"Not so very funny."  
  
The boy began sucking his left index finger with a thoughtful expression. He could never find anything that would amuse the shipwright. And he felt that he should at least attempt to entertain him. He was forever hearing careless comments in the street about how kind Cirdan had been to take him, and how much of a bothersome burden he must be. It was not his fault.  
  
"Now you tell me one!"  
  
Cirdan jerked suddenly into the present to find his charge sitting back expectantly, smiling hopefully. Immediately all puns and limericks seemed to fly from his mind. Leaving him only with the memory of the jokes that were passed around the shipyards. Which, considering they all contained scantily clad female elves, gruesome injuries or truly foul language, he had no intention of repeating. Especially since he did not know where they would be again repeated.  
  
"Can you not think of one?" There was a hint of glee at having out-smarted one so much older than himself.  
  
"No, indeed I cannot." Cirdan admitted and was rewarded by a gleaming smile.  
  
"You must be sad without any funny jokes." The child leaned forwards excitedly. "Do you want to hear another one of mine?"  
  
Cirdan admirably suppressed his inner groan.  
  
"Maybe later child."  
  
It seemed that the boy recognised from his tone that he was busy and not inclined to foolish pastimes, for he did not hear another sound out of him during the time it took him to finish his reading or write the urgent letter. It was not until he had begun work on a document that had previously been lounging untouched for several weeks on a far-flung and easily ignored corner of his desk, that a slight premonition made him cast his eyes downwards.  
  
"Ereinion!" The voice was unnecessarily loud, but it always did surprise him when the child moved silently like that. As usual the child had come to watch in silent vigil, his face inches from Cirdan's left elbow. Something that especially vexed the shipwright as there had been a few occasions when a sudden movement had resulted in him clipping the child by mistake, leaving him to deal with stubborn tears and the consequent guilt.  
  
"Cirdan?"  
  
The shipwright would never know how the boy managed to turn those two syllables into such a plaintive plea for attention.  
  
"Yes." Cirdan was sounding decidedly long-suffering by this time.  
  
"In the attic, by the old chest I found a rack. . ."  
  
Cirdan suddenly remembered what he had left in the rack and interrupted hastily.  
  
"You may not play with the spears Ereinion."  
  
The child looked affronted.  
  
"But I did not wish to play." Ereinion explained carefully to avoid further increasing Cirdan's blood pressure. "I wished you to teach me."  
  
Cirdan sighed extremely loudly.  
  
"There are big ones and small ones. I think - although of course I did not touch it - that the smallest one would be just right for someone about as tall as me." Ereinion quickly added his assertions of innocence as he caught sight of a familiar and dangerous glint in Cirdan's eye.  
  
"I recall that there is also a fine helmet in there." Cirdan ran a hand over his damp hair. "Perhaps you would like to play with that instead?"  
  
Ereinion gave him a pitying look and shook his head.  
  
"Cirdan I played with helmets when I was four! Will you not teach me? Please?"  
  
"Well. . . would you not like to play with them again?" Cirdan played for time.  
  
Ereinion shook his head vigorously. Even the few short years of toddlerhood had left enough tales of his running around the palace dressed in naught but a guard's helm. Tales which his family insisted on repeating over the dinner table whenever the number of guests exceeded a certain critical number. Although he had tried on the helmet, very quickly, when nobody was looking. For it was indeed an enticing toy.  
  
Cirdan sat back and watched his charge hopping to and fro in excitement as he awaited the answer. Of course Ereinion was too young to understand. It was not that he had any real objection to spending a little time with him that wasn't in the guise of disturbed work, but it was just the shipwright did not feel it was his place to do so.  
  
He did not even know if the child was intended to learn spear skills, or even if his parents would agree to such a thing. More importantly it was a father's task. There was bound to be endless father-son bonding over such things and the mere thought of such a thing made the shipwright want to run and hide. But the boy's father was not here. And this was incredibly important to a ten-year-old now, not in the countless years it might take for peace to return to his home.  
  
"Very well Ereinion. I will teach you to use the spear." Cirdan agreed with large doses of reservations.  
  
"Oooooh!" Grey eyes lit up at the unexpected kindness. "Thank you! Thank you!"  
  
In a move that Cirdan later attributed to excitement rather than any real fondness, Ereinion suddenly flung his arms around the shipwright before hastily breaking away. He suspected that the shipwright did not enjoy being hugged as he always became awkward when required to do so, and rarely initiated such a move.  
  
"You must be very careful Ereinion." Cirdan said swiftly in a stern voice, lest the child should hug him again. "For I do not intend sending your misfortunate little fingers back to your father without you."  
  
Typically the child giggled. Still maybe his unusual sense of humour was a good thing. Cirdan had an unenviable record of accidentally reducing children to tears with badly taken comments. 


End file.
